Vices
by EOlivet
Summary: To show him something he's never seen, Mary takes Matthew to a place he's never been. And then he returns the favor. Definite kink warning.


Disclaimer: The characters described herein are the property of Julian Fellowes and ITV. No copyright infringement is intended.

Timeline: S3. No spoilers.

Warning: This fic contains semi-tasteful descriptions of a less than tasteful act. Definite kink warning.

* * *

As Mary was sat on the red settee in the library, she couldn't help but recall a conversation with her father. How he had proclaimed he wanted "a good man" for her.

Matthew was certainly that man in every sense of the word. Sipping her tea, she glanced briefly at her husband – the very embodiment of her father's wishes. Matthew was kind to everyone – his mother, her parents, her sisters (even her sister's dreadfully rude husband) and her grandmother. He had successfully passed muster with Grandmama during her brief visit. Even Isis seemed rather fond of him.

She saw him accept a cup of tea from Carson, with an almost business-like nod. He'd won over Carson, she thought – which was no small task. Upon her relocation to Crawley House, she had seen for herself how much her husband was respected and admired by all the servants there.

He was almost…irritatingly good. Though he was far too clever to ever be considered boring or dull, there were days where his goodness and tolerance almost begged to be tested.

Especially on days like these, when her parents had invited them up to the Abbey, but had yet to arrive themselves. Carson – ever the consummate professional – had suggested they wait in the library, and had brought them some tea in the meantime.

She was bored and restless, and the temptation to test Matthew's limits had become far too great. While Carson's back was turned, she discreetly shifted towards her husband on the settee – moving her foot across the rug, so that her leg, through her thin skirt, slid against Matthew's – back and forth…

When she saw him turn his head slightly towards her, she merely kept her eyes facing forward. With a touch of triumph, she noted the surge in his pulse, beating a frenetic rhythm through what little of his neck remained unobscured by his shirt collar and tie.

"I beg pardon, m'lady," Carson intoned, and they both sat up a bit straighter, as if the butler meant to catch them out for their behavior. "But Lord and Lady Grantham appear to have been detained."

She heard Matthew clear his throat slightly next to her, and she donned a serene smile. "Thank you, Carson. Please inform his Lordship and her Ladyship that we will see them tonight at dinner."

"Very good, m'lady."

Mary then reached over her husband, the long, tapered sleeve of her dress brushing very deliberately against his front and…lower, as she continued to smile politely. "If I could give you this cup, we shall be on our way."

Of course, she could almost hear Matthew's heart pounding in time to his increasingly rapid breath – all of which he had to conceal in company. This feeling of power was intoxicating, and she found herself craving more of it.

As Carson collected both of their cups, Mary primly rose from the settee and walked confidently through the smaller part of the library – hearing Matthew trailing behind her into the foyer.

"Well, you certainly had your fun." His lips were dangerously close to her ear, startling her with the heat of his body so near to hers. Teasingly, he added, "Couldn't you at least wait until we got home?"

If only he knew how very clever he was. A slow smile began to form across her lips as she turned to him. "Why wait until we get home?"

"I'm…sorry?" he wondered in seemingly innocent confusion.

"I thought now might be an excellent time to tour _this_ house."

She inclined her head towards the stairs, with a slightly mischievous smile – unable to forget the last time she'd given a house tour. A Duke with sparkling eyes who'd tempted her in a way that only one so close to royalty possibly could. How she had simpered back then.

How the tables had turned now.

"You don't mean…" Matthew lowered his voice. "But…but you told Carson we were leaving."

Now she turned to him, with a deliberate arch of her eyebrow. "Did I? Well then, I must have been mistaken…" With an almost mocking look, she started to ascend the stairway.

But when she turned round, he was still at the base of the stairs.

"Come now, Matthew," she teased him, trying to keep the hint of irritation out of her voice. "Are you suddenly so fastidious about doing things properly?"

He didn't exactly reply to that, but as she continued upstairs, she could hear him softly following behind. Of course he'd always been unable to resist a challenge.

The silence lasted until they'd made their way into the first floor corridor – passing her room and those of her sisters.

"But what…" Now she turned to see him several steps behind her, looking as if he wanted to run back down the stairs. "If they ask…what we're doing…"

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Really, Matthew – do you think anyone is going to question _either_ of us?"

At least he looked somewhat chastened. "No, but that…that doesn't make it right."

Of course, he _would_ think that way. His goodness was always such a liability. "Have you _any_ vices?" she burst out in frustration.

He was silent for a moment, before hesitantly responding, "What do you mean…vices?"

Now she had to laugh. "Of course not. How silly of me."

Turning back, she kept walking. Her determination to take him to the servant's quarters had only increased. Yes, she would lock them in a room, and then strongly suggest he make love to her against the wall, and nobody could say _a thing_ about it.

Wordlessly, they passed rows and rows of rooms. Slightly irritated, she peeked behind her to make sure he was indeed still there. "Aren't you the least bit curious as to where we're going?"

"No. I…I trust you."

His words pricked at her conscience, especially as he had no idea what she was planning. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"Always." He smiled at her.

She felt her heart begin to thaw, and the reminders of past bitterness slowly start to subside. How he managed to make being good so appealing, she would never know, but suddenly, she knew exactly where to take him.

It was a rather unremarkable door in its own right (and had it always been slightly ajar?). They paused for a moment in front of it, and then without further explanation, she flung the door wide.

To her slight relief, the room looked much as it had a year ago. The bed had clearly been redone, with the decorative cushion still adorning it. The candelabras still dotted the marble fireplace and were placed atop the tables, though their candles were long gone.

In spite of herself, she glanced at Matthew, who seemed utterly entranced by the whole thing, and she felt her heart contract in a pleasant kind of pain.

"What's this?" he wondered, and she couldn't help but smile for a moment before resuming a more neutral expression.

"Bates—well…Anna kept my secret for many years." Though the story in the paper was months old, it still smarted to speak of it. Nevertheless, Mary went on: "When she got married…it seemed only right she have a secret of her own."

He was smiling at her so warmly, she felt suddenly shy. "It's…beautiful." She watched as his eyes wandered about the room. "You…did all this?"

It was almost a relief to be able to scoff at him. "Of course not! That…maid who left here rather suddenly – Jane did."

"And of course it was _her_ idea…"

Obviously, she remained silent, now watching as Matthew almost hesitantly walked across the room. He stopped for a moment beside the bed, before he reached down with a quizzical expression and removed what appeared to be a small cigarette tin and lighter. "I don't suppose…Bates is a smoker."

Mary glanced at the door that had been ajar with a frustrated sigh. "Not that I'm aware of."

Turning over the case in his hand, Matthew walked towards the fireplace. His lips quirked ever so slightly as turned to meet her eyes, and she could only watch in horrified amusement as he removed a cigarette from the case, placed it between his lips and opened the lighter. The tip of the cigarette glowed almost invitingly as it ignited. Her throat felt dry, watching him breathe in – then out in a thin cloud of smoke.

His eyes remained on hers the entire time, as he tapped out the ashes of the cigarette onto the remnants of whatever embers remained there after a year.

"At the front…" He answered her silent question. "When I first arrived, I thought…it might help me to bond with the men." Another puff of the cigarette, and it obscured the air around him. "Only for the first couple of years, but…I liked it."

Her lips moved, her tongue working over them to moisten them, to coax speech from them as she took a small step forward. "And…why did you stop?"

He put the cigarette to his lips again, then dangled it over the hearth. "Well, it's a...filthy habit," he murmured, so low she could barely hear him.

"So, you do have…vices," she managed on a short gasp of breath.

Smiling, he held the cigarette off to the side of his face, working a finger over his eyebrow. "Perhaps…one or two…"

Daringly, she walked toward him – her legs practically trembling with desire at how…extraordinarily ordinary he appeared. After all, these were not her father's proper after dinner cigars, but a common cigarette. And he was smoking like a...common soldier.

Breathing in the unfamiliar air, she crossed to where he was standing. Her hand alighted on his chest, her thumb now stroking over his heart, as her fingers flexed against the material of his shirt. More than anything now, she wanted to taste him, to slip her tongue into his mouth and sample this _filthy_ habit for herself.

Tapping the last of the ash from the cigarette, he gave it one final puff before tossing it into the fireplace.

Emboldened by the atmosphere, and the nearness of him, she found his mouth, opening hers to his unfamiliar taste. She then undid his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and slipped his tie over his head before fervently claiming his lips a second time. Taking hold of the lapels of his waistcoat, she walked him backwards towards the door, for every wall was obscured by furniture. Indeed, the whole thing was deliciously liberating.

His back hit the door and she wrapped her arms about his neck, pulling him into another swift, almost bruising kiss. She was about to lift her legs to position them strategically around his waist when – she thought she might've heard a noise in the corridor.

Breaking from the kiss, she darted around him to peer outside – all at once feeling rather embarrassed. Perhaps no one would stop them from doing as they pleased in what had been and would be her house, but to be i_nterrupted_ was not exactly a pleasant thought.

Once she was assured they were indeed quite alone, she attempted to turn back round, leaning back slightly against him as she encountered…resistance.

She gasped at the feel of him behind her, even through layers of fabric. Having never felt him quite from this…position before, the sensation was unusual, and…rather enjoyable.

Deliberately, she pushed back against him once more, and a low groan vibrated against her ear. Again, and her sigh turned to a moan. It was unspeakably erotic somehow, to be trapped between his body and the door and have it produce such a…marked effect on him.

He reached around her, placing one hand on the door, the other grazing lightly over her chest…and down. Bracing himself, he moved against her once more, and she responded back in kind. Leaning and pushing, leaning and pushing – his hand now boldly skimmed across her chest, which only seemed to intensify her response.

Her breath came more rapidly, and she reached for him, running her fingers haphazardly up his neck and into his hair. Her other hand ran daringly down his trouser leg, where her taunting fingers did not quite reach far enough.

The air was close and warm around them, and his mouth was hot on her neck. As he swept away strands of her hair to taste her skin, she could only tilt her head to encourage greater access. She felt wild and unhinged, with her body almost convulsing backwards towards him – craving more contact, craving more of everything…

His groans had turned to grunts, and his caresses had gained purpose, lifting her dress so she practically whimpered when she felt the air touch her stockings. She had no idea what he was going to do – no idea how this would even work. Such activity did not occur in doorways of respectable estates between the Earl's daughter and his heir, even if they were married. It was reserved for prostitutes in houses of ill repute and…

"Have you—" she panted, suddenly needing to know.

"No." The shyness crept back into his voice, even as he continued to tease her with his fingertips. "Do you…"

A slow smile formed across her lips, and she turned her head – her lips moving against his neck. "Always."

His low moan seemed to reverberate throughout her body, as she focused on the door, on the back of his hand and his other arm that continued to stroke along her front, even as his fingers maneuvered the fabric of her dress further upwards.

There was a soft cacophony of buckles and buttons and fabric gliding down skin. His arm now went around her waist, finding the top of her undergarments…and paused.

Her vision was starting to blur in front of her, from want or need or both, and she leaned back inelegantly against him with a quiet whimper.

A sigh of what seemed like relief hummed against the back of her neck. He then began to lavish the side of her throat with attention while his hand worked at her undergarments, and…

For a moment, they stood still – their hands on each other's skin the only point of contact.

"Ahh…" she breathed, as she heard him make a far more incomprehensible noise when he pressed against her now with nothing separating them. It was heady and indescribable, and she angled her hips backwards, blindly wanting more.

Instinctively, she placed both her palms against the door, leaning over slightly as she did so – which allowed her to push her body against his with much greater force.

With her new almost perpendicular position, he let go of the door himself – his hands now at her sides, and – breathing heavily for a moment – pulled back to thrust in a much more intimate way.

Her breath hitched at the same time his did, feeling him so completely within her as never before. Her fingers tensed against the door, holding her in place, and with a low moan, her body contracted around his.

She couldn't see him – could only feel him everywhere, his hand trailing from her hip across her waist, the other hand keeping a firm grasp on her side, and of course, the unspeakable way he seemed to be burying himself within her. Every time he moved, the door almost shook with the force of her hands pressing against it – drowning out any other kind of noise.

Though she was completely exposed and vulnerable, she'd never felt more completely alive. It was thrillingly erotic – the carnal, primal manner in which he was…taking her. Embracing her baser nature, she gave in to this completely uncivilized pleasure – becoming more and more vocal with every jerk of his hips.

They could not kiss each other – but it hardly seemed to matter. This was not for producing heirs or doing her (albeit enjoyable) wifely duty. This was…for a much different purpose. With nothing to see, she closed her eyes – only to _hear_ his ragged breath in her ear, and _feel_ him probing deeper within her than ever, until…

She felt him shift, slip out – withdraw from her somehow, and when he plunged back in…

"Oh!" she cried, at the same time as he blurted out, "Oh, God," and they both froze. Her eyes flew open, stars swimming in front of them – for this too was new and…unexpected. She could not feel him where she normally could and when she realized where he was…she grew light-headed at the possibility. That she had…accepted him in that way, it was filthy…it was…

Then she felt him move tentatively…gently…and she groaned louder. "_Ohh_." She was curious, confused and more than a little aroused. Her nerves now seemed attuned to every shallow stroke that wracked her body like a punch with a velvet glove.

"_God._" His mouth was at her ear, and he was shaking as much as she was, his hand moving from her hip downward to…slip within her. Only his fingers, for...

Her hips bucked backwards, over and over, faster and faster – which seemed to increase his desire. Her nerves stretched taut, her body afire, and she would burn for this, burn…_for_ this, this utter debauchery that she never knew could feel so…

His fingers and hips worked steadily until she was engulfed by wave after wave of sensation radiating throughout every imaginable orifice. He was in her breath and her bones and her body – oh, God, her body – and she felt herself practically breaking apart under these most intimate of touches, quaking so violently she was afraid her knees might've given out, had he not held her at least semi-upright.

Then his face was buried in her neck and she could feel him both on and in her skin – finding his own unspeakable release. Finally, they both collapsed against the door in a heap of exhaustion.

She was scarcely able to contemplate what they'd just done.

They were both breathing hard, with her legs draped over his – her head now lolling against his chest. Vaguely, she was aware of his palm on her back through her damp dress. Was she the same Lady who'd taken tea in her father's library? How could she possibly be after…this?

Lifting her head, she met his eyes.

He was still practically panting, his hair thoroughly mussed by exertion (and her fingers). His gaze was dark even as he traced a fingertip gently down her cheek, and kissed her nose. It was the same sweet gesture to which she'd grown accustomed after they'd made love in a decidedly more _conventional_ way.

"My darling…" he breathed, his tone so gentle that they might as well have been lying naked together in the bed with the decorative cushions, in a darkened room with only the glow of romantic candlelight.

There was only one thing she could do now.

Extricating herself from his grasp, she made her way to the fireplace, where she retrieved both the cigarette tin and the lighter and then simply sat there, unable to move any further.

After making himself somewhat more presentable, he moved to join her as she opened the tin, removing a cigarette before offering him one. When she handed him the lighter, their fingers brushed together, and she was almost surprised when the contact still gave her that familiar thrill, even after all this.

She placed the cigarette between her lips, as she'd seen him do – as she'd seen other less respectable women do – and he lit it for her before lighting his own.

Coughing slightly, she had to admit she felt a bit calmer. A glance over at him revealed he was very much enjoying his cigarette – inhaling and blowing out smoke with a flourish.

"So..." she managed, with a quirk of her eyebrow as she tapped the ash from her cigarette into the fireplace. "One or two vices?"

He turned to exhale away from her, his cheeks slightly flushed from embarrassment or exhaustion. "One or two."

Then he put his arm around her, her head resting on his shoulder as they continued to smoke in silence.

Indeed, he was just as bad as she was.

The End.


End file.
